


artist and canvas

by astralscrivener



Series: modern au: squad up universe [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys In Love, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Keith is in crew, Lance is also really good at makeup, Lance is in the school play, M/M, THEY'RE IN LOVE SUSAN, They're both flustered, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: a is for artistry.“If you keep singing,” Keith says, fighting to keep his voice even, “I’ll cry, and you haven’t applied the setting spray. This makeupwillrun.”Lance has extra time before the play starts. He decides to do Keith's makeup.set duringchapter 67of squad up.





	artist and canvas

**Author's Note:**

> set during [chapter 67](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12199533/chapters/29649444) of squad up
> 
> this was supposed to be part of the snippet collection but it rapidly became Not A Snippet
> 
> also a while back i made a list of prompts, a-z, and i'm gonna write klance oneshots for them. i didn't mean to start it now but it just kinda happened. yeah i got a lot going on writing-wise i love it but ANYWAY in the middle of writing this i had to break to go grocery shopping and thought about the boys and almost started crying in the middle of stop and shop
> 
> anyway here's the fic

**a. artistry**

                Keith enters the choir room where the cast of the show has set up, nodding toward the cast members and few lingering crew members who greet him. He gives slightly more acknowledgment to Hunk and Shay, raising his hand in greeting, allowing himself to smile at them.

                “He’s back there,” Hunk says knowingly, and points a finger to the back corner of the room, to the spot Lance laid claim to at the end of last year’s musical. He’s behind a whiteboard, a chair dragged over to the arm of the piano the whiteboard sits in front of.

                Keith approaches silently and sneaks up behind Lance. Lance sits on his phone, fully engrossed in a game, back turned. From the reflection in the mirror Lance sits in front of, Keith can see the makeup job he’s done, and for a second, he stops moving.

                _Holy shit._

                _Be still, beating heart._

                The split second is all Lance needs to look up and smile, and _you need to stop that right now, this should be illegal._

                Keith has seen Lance in stage makeup before, and yet.

                And yet.

                “Like what you see?” Lance teases.

                He’s done something different, definitely. Keith stutters out a “yes” and Lance laughs, stands up, and pats the chair.

                “Sit. I’ll be making you look even better.”

                Keith doesn’t sit right away. He watches Lance for a moment or two, as Lance snatches up another chair no one’s using and drags it behind the whiteboard. Lance plops himself down in that one and grabs his makeup bag from where it rests on the closed piano keys.

                “Sit down, Mulletman,” Lance repeats, and Keith sits this time. Lance drags his chair closer and scoots forward, legs on either side of Keith’s. If he scoots forward any more he’ll practically be straddling Keith—not that Keith’s _opposed_ to the idea.

                “How long have we got?” Keith asks.

                “Plenty of time,” Lance answers.

                He takes a bottle of moisturizer and squeezes some into his palm, and rubs his hands together. Then he starts applying it to Keith’s face, and Keith flinches.

                “Your hands are fucking _cold_.”

                “Your face is hot,” Lance replies cheekily. “Flustered?”

                Yes.

                “No.”

                Then Lance takes his sweet old time rubbing moisturizer down Keith’s neck.

                “You asshole,” Keith mutters.

                Lance is still grinning. “What? Am I doing something _wrong,_ Starlight?”

                Lance sets the bottle of moisturizer down and gets a bottle of primer. Keith would demand the bottle from him and do it himself, instead of going through that _again,_ but he likes Lance’s hands, gentle on his face, and he has a sneaking suspicion Lance enjoys touching his face.

                “Are you doing a full face?” Keith asks.

                “Yeah,” Lance answers. “I’m going light, but yeah.”

                The primer, as it turns out, is slightly less painful to endure, especially when he shuts his eyes to let Lance apply some to his lids, opens them, and finds Lance blushing furiously when he does.

                “How the fuck are you real?” Lance mutters, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud.

                Keith is very grateful that he’s already red.

                Lance continues on with the makeup routine, instructing Keith to shut his eyes again. Keith complies, while Lance sifts through his makeup. Then he presses a palm against Keith’s face.

                “Hold still,” Lance says.

                This isn’t the first time Lance has done Keith’s makeup. Keith keeps his head as still as possible and doesn’t dare open his eyes as Lance swipes and dabs an eyeshadow brush over his eyelids. When Lance withdraws, Keith doesn’t move, and Lance returns two seconds later with an eyeliner brush.

                Keith doesn’t exactly enjoy pointy objects near his eyes, but Lance’s motions are skilled and precise, and he’s finished in under a minute.

                “Alright, mascara,” Lance says. “Either you can do it, or I will.”

                The last time Lance did his makeup, Keith did his mascara himself. But he wants another excuse to keep Lance’s hand on his cheek and their faces inches apart.

                “You do it,” Keith says.

                “Alright. If I stab you in the eye then you have my full permission to kick my ass later,” Lance replies.

                Keith opens his eyes wide enough for Lance to swipe on the mascara. Once, he tries making eye contact, but the moment he does, Lance freezes.

                “Okay, nope, you can’t do that. Stare at the ceiling, or something. You can’t look at me like that,” Lance says quickly, shaking his head, and adds a quick _what the fuck_ under his breath.

                Lance finishes up the rest of the mascara and leans back, assessing his work, and then nods.

                “Foundation time,” Lance says.

                Keith shuts his eyes again, contentedly, as Lance sets to work applying his foundation, the liquid cool against his skin. Meanwhile, somewhere in the room, the music that’s been blasting—a playlist consisting only of Disney songs and musical theatre, as if Keith expects anything else from the drama club kids—changes, to a song Keith’s cried along to several times, with only Lance as witness.

                “Oh fuck,” Keith whispers.

                Lance skips over humming the song and goes right into quietly serenading Keith, singing along with Rapunzel.

                “If you keep singing,” Keith says, fighting to keep his voice even, “I’ll cry, and you haven’t applied the setting spray. This makeup _will_ run.”

                It doesn’t matter that the rest of the room is singing, too, some people practically shouting the song at the top of their lungs. They’re not his boyfriend, sitting in front of him and being impossibly fucking cute.

                “ _All at once, everything looks different, now that I see you_ ,” Lance goes on, despite Keith’s protesting.

                If Keith has cried over the lantern scene in _Tangled_ more times than he can count, then Lance has done so that many times, times infinity. One of their more recent viewings of the movie was impromptu, and only happened because they just so happened to be flipping through channels until they stumbled upon it. That night ended with both of them sobbing, wrapped in each others’ arms.

                “You little shit,” Keith hisses, eyes burning.

                “You love it,” Lance replies, breathless, during a break in the lyrics.

                “YO!” a voice shouts above the music, from across the room. “TWENTY BUCKS KLANCE IS GETTING SAPPY BACK THERE!”

                Lance pauses in his singing and bites his lip, smile spreading across his face. The room stops, altogether, and the only sound is the sound of the music still playing in someone’s speakers. The longer the silence drags out, the more Lance’s grin grows, and he wiggles his eyebrows at Keith.

                “DAMMIT, LANCE, I SWEAR TO GOD I HEARD YOU SINGING!” the voice calls.

                “Nice try, Plax!” Lance calls back.

                There’s laughter, and the singing takes back over. Lance wraps his job on the foundation—whispering the song, and Keith kicks him—and makes quick work of applying highlight and contour, a dusting of blush.

                “Lip time, Kogane,” Lance says quietly, at some point, and Keith pouts on reflex.

                Lance leans in and kisses him softly, and Keith squeaks in the back of his throat. He barely has a chance to kiss back before Lance pulls away and starts applying something.

                “I’m using a nude shade for you,” Lance says. “Your natural lip color is pretty perfect already.”

                Keith would say something back, like _you can’t do this to me_ or _stop that right now, mister,_ if he could move his mouth without fucking up Lance’s work. But he doesn’t, and sits there with his face on fire, hot enough Keith feels he could melt his foundation off before Lance can set it.

                “Somebody’s _flustered_ ,” Lance sing-songs under his breath.

                Keith opens his eyes long enough to give Lance a look that says _so help me, I will kill you._

Lance finally pulls back after dabbing on the finishing touches on Keith’s mouth.

                “Hot damn,” Lance whispers.

                “Lance, if you keep saying these things—”

                “I’ll stop saying these things when you stop being attractive,” Lance interrupts.

                Keith shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

                “Yes I am. Now close your eyes, unless you wanna get blinded by setting spray,” Lance responds. Keith shuts his eyes again, and only flinches slightly when Lance spritzes his face and neck with his setting spray.

                Lance fans his hand in front of Keith’s face a few times, and then says, “Alright, you’re all good. Wanna see?”

                Keith opens his eyes again, and Lance hands off the mirror that’s been propped on top of the piano.

                “Holy shit,” Keith says, when he gets a good look at his reflection. “Who the hell did you sell your soul to to make me look _good?_ ”

                The look isn’t anything overly special—mostly natural makeup—but somehow, Lance has made Keith look glamorous. Yes. Keith, _glamorous_.

                “Shut up, you always look good. Great, actually. Perfect without trying. Um—anyway—”

                Keith sets down the mirror and finds Lance staring at him.

                “Who’s the flustered one _now?_ ” Keith taunts, and it’s his turn to grin devilishly.

                Lance spins around in his chair, tearing his gaze away. “What the _fuck,_ Keith!”

                “Hey,” Keith says sharply, and grabs Lance by the shoulder, “ _you’re_ the one who wanted to do my makeup.”

                Lance sighs in defeat and faces Keith again. “And you didn’t stop me. Honestly, fuck you.”

                Keith laughs and climbs into Lance’s lap. Lance flushes, even as he wraps his arms around the small of Keith’s back and brings him in closer.

                “Love you,” Keith says, and kisses Lance.

                Their kisses are light, even though they both ache to go deeper. Keith tries to, once, but Lance pulls away, eyes narrowed, grin mischievous.

                “Hey, mister, no makeouts until after the show. I’m not trying to redo this before circle,” he says.

                Keith pouts. “And when are we supposed to do that? We’ve gotta be in Hunk’s minivan as soon as possible, or he’s leaving us.”

                “Nobody can see us in the back seat,” Lance replies with a wink.

                “You know full well Pidge will hear us and call us out,” Keith says.

                “So we make it a game,” Lance responds. “We’ll see who can keep the quietest.”

                Lance slides a hand up the back of Keith’s shirt.

                “Oho, don’t you dare,” Keith says. “You know I can’t do anything because you’re in costume.”

                Lance winks. “That’s the whole point, Mullet.”

                Somebody knocks on the other side of the whiteboard, startling both of them, so hard that Keith nearly falls out of Lance’s lap. Plaxum pokes her head around the board, rolling her eyes.

                “You two are gross,” she says.

                “WE’RE IN PRIVATE, EXCUSE ME,” Lance cries indignantly.

                “It’s not private if anyone sitting on the other side of this thing can hear you, damn!” someone else says,

                “Fuck off, Pidge!” Keith shoots back.

                “Anyway,” Plaxum says, “circle’s in five minutes, which means crew needs to get out of here. That means _you,_ Kogane.”

                “Aw, come on,” Lance says, and pulls Keith closer as he gives Plax his puppy dog look. “You said five minutes. Let me have this.”

                “Nope,” Plax responds. “Pidge and the others are leaving, too. Go get ready—as soon as circle’s over, Lance and Ez need to get to house, and set crew needs to make sure everything’s ready for places.”

                Lance sighs, overdramatically, and lets go of Keith, and Keith pries himself away from Lance. Plax grins at him and raises her eyebrows as she steps aside to let Keith through.

                “Have fun?” Plax asks.

                “You know, just for this, we’re gonna be gross as hell at the diner,” Keith says.

                Plax gives him a light shove. “Didn’t expect anything else.”

                Keith snorts and heads out the door, falling into step with a few of the other crew kids who’d been hanging out backstage. Pidge elbows him in the side, face screwed up as she pushes past him.

                “You disgust me.”

                Keith just reaches out and ruffles her hair. “That’s my job.”

                Pidge rolls her eyes and heads out to the auditorium, back to the light and sound booth, and Keith ends up walking alongside Acxa.

                “You were totally being sappy back there, weren’t you?” she whispers to him.

                Keith shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. Can I say the same about you and Ez?”

                Acxa smiles thinly. “Maybe. See, no one calls us out because we fly _under_ the radar.”

                Keith pulls open the door to the back of the wings and gestures for Acxa to go through. She does, pausing as Keith quietly shuts the door behind them.

                “Where’s the fun in that?” Keith asks. “I like showing him off.”

                “We know,” Acxa replies. “Trust me, _we know._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i got carried away on this i was back on my drama club bullshit, i miss the fall show
> 
> anyway have a good day


End file.
